


Waver Velvet Finishes His Degree

by not_over_wise



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Gen, highly descriptive title, magic academia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_over_wise/pseuds/not_over_wise
Summary: A sunny little story about magic academia, in which some terrible people end up happier than they deserve.
Kudos: 4





	Waver Velvet Finishes His Degree

"At least it's still sunny," thought Waver Velvet, "on my final day in this horrible place, before I drop out and go read law or something." He really had had an awful day, but, when presented with an opportunity to deliver an unusual package for his (awful) professor, he was torn between a teenager's desire to make some dramatic, vindictive gesture, and a desire just to be liked. The latter desire won out—whether this was a sign of maturity or a holdover from childhood, when a teacher's approval is like that of a parent, is for the reader to determine.

Waver carried the package, whatever it was, to his professor's office. He hesitated at the door, but turned the knob anyway and entered.

The office overlooked one of the courtyards, and reflected afternoon sunlight flooded the room with the honey color of the masonry. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, interrupted here and there with labeled specimens and darkly reflective vials, and the heavy wooden desk before him was covered in neat stacks of folders and books stuck with interlibrary loan notices. A tam and gown hung on a hook on the back of the door and shifted slightly as he pushed the door open.

Waver started to walk over to the desk, but was suddenly so startled he almost dropped the package. There was someone sitting there, silhouetted in the light and half-hidden among the books.

"Oh, good afternoon," the person said. Waver could now see a young man, a few years his senior, sitting on a wooden chair at one side of the larger leather chair behind the desk. Arranged before him were two piles of papers, one (almost depleted) untouched and another (enormous) written on in red ink. "I'm Professor Archibald's thesis advisee; do you need anything? I'm just finishing up my marking, so you've caught me at a good time."

Waver could only stammer, "I-I'm so sorry to interrupt you. I just need to drop this off and then I'll leave." He placed the package on an empty corner of the desk, looking anywhere but at this associate of his professor.

Before he could turn to leave, the doctoral student behind the desk spoke up. "Wait a minute, don't I recognize you from somewhere? What's your name?"

Waver gave it.

"Oh, right, you're in his tutorial. You've made quite a name for yourself among the faculty—I actually have instructions to set your papers aside for the Professor to read."

Waver lost his temper at this fresh insult. "So he's deliberately targeting me—that stupid man hates me! He mocked my paper in front of the whole lecture hall not fifteen minutes ago! He did it just to humiliate me—me, Waver Velvet! I hate him, I hate this stupid university—"

The doctoral student didn't know what to make of this display, and was glad on Waver's behalf that these offices had magical soundproofing.

"You shouldn't... Please calm down! Don't you understand how these things work? Professor Archibald ordinarily doesn't even read student work, that's my job..."

Waver interrupted him. "Yes, he clearly just wants to laugh at me and come up with ways to misrepresent my research!"

"Well, um, I saw what you turned in most recently, and I would tend to agree with the Professor that you're missing some essential context and wasting your time with that line of inquiry... But your writing is impressive, and you've shown a seriousness about putting together a body of work that is unusual for an undergraduate. Professor Archibald just wants to see what you and a few others in your class produce—it helps academics' careers to have their names associated with rising stars." The doctoral student prudently withheld his opinion that the professor would not have extended this favor, had Waver's magical potential matched his scholarly ability and qualified him as a replacement in the short term.

"I don't suppose this is a secret test of character, and Professor Archibald will turn out to be some sort of supportive mentor after all?"

"Ha, no, he's actually terrible! I've been working with him since last year, and he has yet to do any real advising, or even thank me for marking his students' assignments. But the career benefit goes both ways, and I've been able to make some useful connections. My advice is just to continue to turn in good work, know that your professors have your name on a short list, and enjoy the opportunities that open up before you. You do want to teach, I assume?"

Waver nodded.

"Then this is just what you have to put up with. Most mages don't even get the option of building a real career, let alone of joining the faculty here—they just putter around aimlessly until they die of old age, or get killed by their rivals. Not that that's not a risk here, but it helps that professors are segregated by discipline and are rarely in direct competition."

A clock on the wall chimed. The afternoon lecture was over!

"Thank you for your time," Waver said. He felt, for the second time in a day, like his life had been turned upside down, and this was also the longest sustained conversation he could remember having at the university. Anxious to leave, but inwardly excited about what he had heard, he managed to say, "Can I maybe ask you some questions about your academic career, later?"

The doctoral student was about to answer when the door opened and the office's owner swept in. Waver turned and ran without another word.

Professor Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald did not deign to notice the conversation he had interrupted or the fleeing undergraduate. In any event, his attention was attracted by the package on his desk, and the doctoral student, dismissed early from his work, received no further guidance on his thesis that year...

* * *

That term and the next, Waver filled the empty space in his schedule with other lectures, met occasionally with the doctoral student (picked up by a different professor) to discuss life in academia, and, to his surprise, received a series of invitations to honor society dinners put on by the faculty. These were somewhat self-consciously cloaked in secrecy and exclusivity, and for the first time, Waver felt like he was "part of something" at the school. It was at one of these dinners, amid the candlelight and academic dress, that he heard the news of his professor's return.

"They're finally holding the wedding next month! I heard they've hired so-and-so to decorate the family castle, and the magical bakery doing the catering is supposed to be simply divine..."

" _I_ heard that they're going to rent an entire island in the Mediterranean for their honeymoon. Somehow I never really expected the match to work out, but you should see the way they look at each other... I wonder what happened while they were away?"

Well, _something_ had happened, and the professor's CV had a new line under "Selected Magical Competitions (Participant)." There were darker rumors as well, and certain departmental accounting irregularities were hinted at, but: "What can you do, when he's had tenure since his early twenties? Maybe we ought to reassess our 'prodigy' policy."

All anyone knew for sure was that Professor Archibald and his fiancée had returned from some obscure foreign summoning contest. But the following fall term, when Waver took his seat in the familiar lecture hall, it seemed to him that the professor's arrogance was somehow transmuted. Perhaps someone had taught him true self-confidence, a recognition that extending respect to others does not diminish your own dignity. Or perhaps it was Waver himself who had matured enough not to care.

* * *

Here's what _I_ heard. The "magical competition" was not at all as advertised, and it failed to meet the expectations of the Clock Tower entrants. There were only two proper dueling opponents (one accompanied by a very troublesome man), they lost all their luggage, and their nice clothes were ruined by sleeping outdoors ("like tramps," said Lady Sola-Ui, and inexplicably blushed). However, they had a powerful protector, and it is remarkable how effective a bonding experience it is to cling to someone for dear life while charging through the sky at what looks like certain death. They obviously didn't win—no one did. But they did make it home, together.

As for Waver, he eventually became a professor, an exception that proved the rule despite his continued advocacy for early-generation students. A few years after he successfully defended his thesis, and a decade after the events of this story, Waver's former advisor stopped by his junior faculty office to finally offer some advice: "Don't even consider getting on that flight to Japan. It's not worth it." Waver never did get any other thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Written April 2020; cross-posted from FF dot net.
> 
> I find that F/Z has a very effective plot—tragedy that must wait until the next generation for catharsis—but I always feel sorry for the three interlopers from the Clock Tower who get in over their heads. (Even the survivor ends up miserable, trapped in his past and a smoker to boot.) Hence this silliness.
> 
> Please feel free to mentally translate my cultural and canonical errors. I have also gone back and forth between trying to impose the logic of the real world and just accepting that nothing makes sense in the Fate universe except through its authors' overwrought, ex post facto explanations. (But really, why is a /materials scientist/ teaching a course where it is acceptable to turn in a /sociology/ paper?)
> 
> P.S. The OC grad student is named Tallyho Unifaun, which is obviously a reasonable name for an English person.


End file.
